


A Trial of Beginnings

by taoroo



Series: In This Place, Forever [5]
Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Fluff, Mild Peril, Philippe is a precious cinnamon roll and I should be ashamed, Philippe suffers just a little bit, Some hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 19:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoroo/pseuds/taoroo
Summary: While Isabeau's life and the life of their child hangs in balance, Etienne entrusts Philippe with the duty to save them. But will Philippe reach Imperius in time? And what trials await the young thief on his journey? Will Isabeau and the child survive? Will Philippe?





	A Trial of Beginnings

Hooves thundered along the muddy road, flinging up water and muck. I was coated in rain, filth, and foam from Goliath’s mouth, the magnificent beast running at a terrifying pace.

Scared as I was, and—oh merciful God, save Your poor servant—am I terrified out of my rain-shivering skin, I dared not slow our pace.

Not that my scrawny, bone-deep-chilled arms could have held Goliath back anyway.

No, I would not slow, because a far more terrible prospect spurred me on. Isabeau’s life depended on our speed.

“ _It’s up to you brother_ ,” Eti’s words burned through my mind and tightened its grip around my heart.

“ _I’ll bring him back_ ,” I’d vowed.

He'd nodded, his beautiful, haunted eyes filled with more confidence and woe than I could bear. “ _You shall_.”

I’d swallowed thickly and grasped Goliath’s reigns right, bracing myself for Eti’s slap upon his mount’s rump that would send me hurtling into the night.

“ _I must_ ,” I’d whispered into Goliath’s mane, and it was a promise to myself that I’d return with the priest, or I would not return at all.

Now, in the heart of the gale, with sleet blinding me and the wind so cold I felt its knives deep in my ragged lungs, I urged Goliath forward. Trusting the gallant steed would know his way along the southern road I buried my head in his mane and held on for dear life. Three dear lives, truly, for I knew if Isabeau or the child struggling within her could not be saved then so too was our dearest Captain doomed.

 _Oh Lord, I know I’ve done nothing in my miserable existence to warrant Your Grace, but please, for the love of all that is holy, all that those two pure souls are to one another,_ please _, save them. If it comes at a cost of my wretched life then I’ll gladly pay it; one, ten, a thousand times!_

I wasn’t prepared when Goliath stopped, so sudden his hindquarters near touched the road, mud thrown up all around. I don’t know how I stayed on, Lord, but if it was any of Your doing, I thank You most kindly for sparing me a broken neck. Though if that is my one and only miracle of this day, I beg You reconsider.

It took me a moment to rub the muck and sweat from my stinging eyes. When my vision cleared, I saw I was surrounded by half a dozen men, all with hands on more weapons than they had teeth.

“Afternoon traveller,” the head man said, his tone businesslike. “That’s a mighty fine horse you have there.”

I cleared my throat carefully.

“No indeed,” I squeaked, “a nasty, wild brute he is. I can barely control him.”

“You won’t mind giving him up then,” the man grinned, hefting his woodman’s axe in a manner that suggested he knew how to use it. “That and your valuables.”

“Regretfully, monsieur, he’s not mine to give,” I said hurriedly, keeping a wary eye on the more weapon-eager of his crew, “and I have nothing of value on me.”

There was no way out. Even if I kicked Goliath into a run, I’d just get an arrow in my back for my trouble. Loath as I was to try it, I went for the truth – or a close enough approximation at least.

“I’m sent on a mission from my master. My mistress is heavy with child but taken ill. I’m to fetch the priest from the castle ruin south of here. He is the only hope to save her and the babe’s life!”

“A likely story,” the highwayman sneered. “I can see a ring from here. We’ll soon see what other goodies you have stashed on you.”

I raised my hands as several of the men came forwards to grab me. Goliath stamped and snorted, his ears laid flat.

“Please, I beg you, see reason,” I said, truly desperate at each wasted second. “This ring was given to me by my master with his favour, it’s all I have, I swear it.”

In truth the ring was so much more than that. Etienne had gifted it to me not long after that ridiculous debacle with the merchant and his brooch, as a sign of bondship between us. It was a signet ring of his father’s house; it’s partner, his mother’s, sitting on Isabeau’s finger. Its surface shone with how often I found myself fiddling and rubbing at the thing, a lifeline and point of grounding in times of worry or distress.

Inspiration struck.

“I may not have money but my master does. I can promise you a reward for my safe passage!”

“Bollocks,” the leader sneered. “We let you go we’ll never see you again!”

“I give you my word,” I yelped and clung to my seat as Goliath shied away from a grasping hand. “I can give you a token. Here…” I took hold of Etienne’s ring, so large it fit only my thumb, and, with a wrench more to my heart than my hand, I pulled it free.

“Take this as assurance,” I said, throwing the ring to the leader and praying to God they would go along with such a risky scheme, “I give you my word I shall return.”

One of the highwaymen screamed. He had got too close to Goliath and now clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.

I took the opportunity, kicking Goliath into a run and praying with all my heart that no arrows would start to fly. Thankfully those ahead of him sprang apart for fear of being trampled, and we were away.

My heart thudded heavy in my chest, but despite several shouts to stop, and one arrow which whistled close past my head, nothing else was flung our way.

~

The castle was lit when I reached Imperius. Goliath’s lather coated my legs and I was drenched through, my hands numb and burning from clutching at the reigns.

“Philippe?” I heard Imperius as if through a thick curtain or door. “Dear God, boy you look half-drowned!”

“Never mind that!” I said, finding a surge of zeal within. “The child, Father! You must come now or not at all.”

Imperius’s worried frown dipped further, but his mouth firmed into resolve.

“I’ll get my things,” he said. “Go and wake Abraham.”

I leapt from Goliath, hoping the beast had sense to stay where he was, but before I ran for the Father’s ass I paused to reconsider.

Trying to lead Goliath where one wanted him to go, and not being a tall, brooding, hulk of a man as my brother, was a near futile mission. After tugging with little effect on the reigns for a stretch I turned to the beast and grasped his muzzle.

“Now stop your nonsense!” I said, glaring as sternly as I could manage into his eyes. “Our Ladyhawke is in deathly trouble and I have no time for your temper!”

Well, whether he understood me or not, Lord, I had no more trouble from Goliath.

By the time Imperius bustled from the castle, bags in hand, I had a put-out Goliath in the trappings of the priest’s cart, a sleepy, grumpy Abraham attached to its rear by lead rope.

Imperius gave the setup but a brief glance and then heaved his significant bulk into the seat beside me, before fixing me with an appraising eye.

“I suppose telling you to stay put and rest will do no good,” he grumped. “Hurry then, we’ve no time to lose.”

I nodded and raised up the reigns, urging Goliath into a canter.

The cart creaked and groaned alarmingly, but held fast.

Despite never having suffered the ignominy of a cart’s traces before Goliath bore the weight well – far better than Abraham would have managed, that is for certain. We made quick time toward the city, the more direct road reducing our journey time significantly in comparison to the winding, country paths we six had travelled nearly a year previous.

The rain had eased up now, but the wind was biting cold still. I was so frozen I dared hardly breathe for fear my lungs would crack. We said nothing, save for what information Imperius demanded of me of his patients. I had very little of cheer to tell him: yes, her waters had passed; yes, the pain wracked her in frequent waves; no, there was no sign of the child; and no, Nannette’s mother – a lady with six children of her own – had no luck in delivering the child or bringing comfort to my sister. Isabeau, brave and strong as a lioness, had looked faded already at my last glimpse of her, her face pale and hair stuck with sweat against her gentle brow.

I tightened my grip on the reigns and encouraged Goliath forward.

It was near full night by the time we reached the forests where I had met the highwaymen. A great dilemma lay before me. _Should I set Goliath to a run? Charge past the bandits and risk an arrow to any one of us for our trouble? What, really, was the value in one’s word? Was honour really worth the risk of slowing even a minute on our route?_

I thought of Etienne, of Isabeau, of the child inside her who would start their life on a broken oath.

I heaved a deep sigh. Really, Lord, having a conscience is truly a vexing burden.

I slowed Goliath, and when the highwaymen appeared, I stopped the cart completely.

“I told you I’d return,” I said, jutting out my chin stubbornly.

“That you did,” the head man seemed impressed. I saw Etienne’s ring upon his finger and held back a wince.

“What’s going on, boy?” Imperius demanded. “We must hurry!”

I shot the Father a reassuring smile then addressed my would-be robbers. “Father Imperius must get to Aquila.”

“Told you, boy, I’m keeping that horse.”

“And I told you he’s not mine to give,” I snapped, my temper frayed further than my reason. Taking a quick, steadying breath, I pressed on with my scheme.

“Look, my master has the coin to pay you more than a fair ransom for our safe passage, but if you send your men alone, he’ll cut them down like wheat under a scythe. The Father can negotiate, calm his wicked temper before blood is spilt. Send some men with him to parlay. I— I’ll stay here as insurance.”

“Philippe, no,” Imperius barked, but I could see in what little light was left to illuminate his face that he knew we were trapped.

“You? Insurance?” The head man scoffed. “Thought you said you was his servant?”

“He is the Captain’s most esteemed brother,” Imperius said gruffly.

I avoided the bandit’s glare.

“I, perhaps, was a little less than full truthful with you sirs before,” I ventured.

The head man snorted. “A likely story. Better we keep the Friar and send this servant back to his master for a ransom.”

“Kidnap a man of God?” Imperius thundered. “Have you no shame, monsieur?”

“If you keep Imperius here then it will be too late for the lady and her child,” I said, grim with the thought of it, “and should that happen, no hostage will save you from the Captain’s vengeance. I’ve seen him slaughter a dozen men for getting in his way to church on a Sunday, a group of bandits will be no trial.”

Again, I was stretching the truth just a little, but from the looks on our would-be ransomer’s faces, I was getting through to them at last.

“Get down then, servant,” the head man growled, gesturing with his axe to two of his band. “My boys’ll go with the Father and see this Captain holds up your end of the bargain.” He fixed me with an awful glare. “Best hope he does, for I’ll be terrible cross.”

I swallowed down my fear and gave Imperius a sickly smile.

The good Father nodded at me, handing over the reins but grudgingly to the bandit who sat beside him, the second perching inside the cart. “God watch over you, Philippe.”

“God better go with you, if He’s any sense at all,” I quipped back.

Imperius’ eyes glinted and he dug in his cowl, fishing out his rosary and flinging it across to me. “Four Hail Mary’s and three Our Father’s for the blasphemy, my lad. Best you have them finished before your brother arrives.”

I watched dismally as the cart clattered away, desperate to be with them. The rosary hung heavy in my hand and I worried the beads between my fingers.

I thought of Isabeau and of Etienne, and prayed.

~

“Sit down, for God’s sake!”

I barely startled at the snap, so wrapped up I was in my own thinking.

We were gathered at the highwaymen’s camp; a more comfortable and homely affair than I’d imagined. The bandit’s wives had made a stew, which they had shared with me, though I ate very little of it. The camp was sheltered from the rain by a hanging latticework of branches, and the seats were padded with dry leaves and moss.

On questioning some of the looser-lipped members, their womenfolk in particular eager to share their tale with an outsider, I learned they group had come together through misfortune. Some had lost the favour of their lord, and been run off their lands, others had fallen into debt and lost their possessions to taxation. Most had invited the ire of the church under the Bishop’s rule, and had been excommunicated for some paltry sin or another. I warmed to them, these kindred spirits, even if they kept me from my family’s side, I could not begrudge them their trying to survive.

I looked over to the head man – Claude his scolding wife had called him when we returned to camp and she saw what he had brought with him – and my eyes flickered down to his hand.

“I do wish you’d return my ring,” I said by way of answer, resuming my pacing. The rosary was in my hands, and I wrung it as a maiden does a handkerchief.

“Sit down, fool, or I’ll tie you up!”

“It was a gift,” I continued, glancing off into the dark night, willing my Etienne to come charging through, declaring everything and everyone well, and possibly giving Claude a good drubbing before whisking me away.

“I gave it to you as a matter of insurance against my return and see? I am returned, your hostage, so there really is no need to keep it any longer. The Captain gave it to me, you know.”

I heard the scrape of an axe as Claude lifted it into his hand.

“So you’ve said,” he growled. “Sit down before I cut your feet off.”

I glowered at my captor but did as he commanded, throwing myself into a seat with much good petulance.

“Your master doesn’t beat you enough,” the bandit grumbled.

I bit back my retort to inform him of the contrary, lest he take it as invitation, instead folding my arms and tapping my foot, glaring at the fire.

Some of the men were playing at dice, while most of the women were working at some mending or sat about talking, glancing to me every so often with suspicious looks. A few grubby children ran about the camp, ignoring their mothers until their fathers called on them. One came up to me; a filthy waif who reminded me very much of a young Philippe, before he became The Mouse.

“You don’t look much like a servant to me,” she said, eyeing me curiously. “Your clothes are far too nice.”

I contemplated what reaction Nanette would have to my nice, soaked, and filthy clothes, and grimaced.

“No indeed,” I said with a shrug. Now that I was sitting still, I felt the chill of the wind and shivered.

“You don’t look like a noble neither. You look like us.”

I huffed a laugh at that. “I suppose I’m only a peasant, making pretend in the clothes of my betters,” I said with a wry grin. “I’ve tried many times to wear what I used to, but my lady sister won’t have any of it. “ _You do yourself and unkindness, dear Mouse_ ”, she says, “ _why wear those rags when you could wear velvet and silk?_ ””

“Your sister’s a lady?”

“The greatest lady of them all,” I said wistfully, “a fierce and brave Ladyhawke.”

The child made a face, “She’s a hawk?”

I grinned at that. “She was, once, and my lord brother a wolf. But that was long ago, back when I was a mouse.”

“Stop filling her head with nonsense,” Claude grumbled from across the fire.

I raised a brow at the girl, who was watching me with curiosity. She had rolled her eyes at her father’s words, knowing as she was facing away he could not see her. I warmed to her instantly. Giving her a conspiratorial wink, I shuffled closer, as if to tell a secret.

“Want to hear a story?”

~

“Then Etienne, filled with a terrible rage and grief, raised his father’s sword to strike the dread Bishop down.”

My audience was captivated. It had grown during my telling of the tale, till the whole camp sat upon tenterhooks. They had laughed at my antics, and shouted at the duplicity of the wolf hunter, and wept when the lovers had shared their brief second together in the dawnlight. Now their breath was baited, some already weeping for my Isabeau, presumably dead at the hands of the loyal priest.

“Suddenly!” I cried, delighting in the way Claude leapt. “—The doors to the cathedral were flung open. Light poured in, bright and blinding, and in its centre, stood a glowing angel. It was Isabeau, her golden hair radiant in the half-sun, standing tall, and proud, and human.”

I dropped my voice, and the gathered crowd leant in to hear my words. Claude was practically chewing on his beard. He had shouted loudest of all at the Bishop’s cruelty.

“Etienne watched his lady in open wonder, the love and relief he felt shining through his ghostly eyes. Tearing his gaze away from her beauty he grasped the bishop and dragged him to his knees.

“ “ _Look at her_ ,” he commanded. “ ** _Look_** _at her_.”

“At first the Bishop flung his arms up to shield his eyes, but, unable to resist temptation, he finally looked, and his face filled with lust, and greed, and fear.

“ “ _Now_ ,” said Etienne as he rested his sword over the Bishop’s heart, “ _look at me_.”

“Unable to refuse such a command, through fear and loathing, the Bishop turned his gaze upon Navarre. Releasing him, Etienne walked backward, sword and gaze locked upon him.

“ “ _Now, look at us._ ” He said. “ ** _Look at us!_** ” he shouted when the Bishop made to turn aside.

“Defeated, the Bishop looked upon the lovers, and so it was the curse was broken.”

The camp exploded in uproar, the women chattering and crying, the children whooping and the men cheering.

“What of the Bishop?” Claude demanded. The big man had tear tracks down his bushy cheeks.

“Overwhelmed, Etienne fell to his knees,” I said, my voice trembling at the memory. “The whole congregation watched in reverent silence as Isabeau stepped closer to her love, her hand reaching out toward him. When she drew close, Etienne grasped her hand, and the two stared in wonder at the purity of one-another’s touch.

“But Isabeau was not yet done that she could fall into her beloved’s arms. She walked to the Bishop and stood before him: proud, and disdainful, and pitying. In a hand she raised her hawk’s hood and jesses, letting the man see the chains of her curse before dropping them to the ground before him. Then, dismissing him completely and forever, she turned away.

“The Bishop closed his eyes, knowing that he had lost Isabeau forever, but an instant later his heart twisted into vile jealousy and he leapt up, raising his crosier high to strike her down.”

As my crowd gasped and shouted, I forged on with the final chapter of my tale.

“The good Imperius barked a warning, and Etienne whirled, his father’s sword flying from his hand. It struck the Bishop true, piercing him straight through, the metal burning red-hot as it touched his flesh.”

My audience erupted once more in cheers and applause.

“The church stood, deathly quiet. Isabeau took Etienne’s hand and helped him to rise, and then those two souls walked into the sunlight. They paused, and held hands, gazing in love and wonder at that which they had longed for, dreamed of for so many long days and nights,” I said, as the camp descended into expectant, hushed silence. “Etienne kissed Isabeau’s hand and… well, I suppose you don’t want the details…”

“Go on!” Claude’s wife said, her tone suggesting violence to my person if I did not.

I happy obliged, having known that would be the response.

“For those who could not touch the one they loved for two long years, such a meeting was the stuff of legends,” I said, feeling a lump in my own throat as I recollected the scene. “Always together, eternally apart, no longer! They kissed, soft at first and tentative as virgins, speaking each other’s names like a holy prayer, then kissed again, deep and passionate as the boiling sea. They laughed, and they cried, and they kissed, and Etienne lifted Isabeau to the skies, whirling as she spread her arms in the sunlight, flying like the bird she was blessed to never be again.”

The whole camp was hushed as I finished, some weeping quietly while others sat and digested their great meal of a tale.

“But is that the end?” asked the little girl urgently, jogging up and down in her need.

“Of the story?” I said with a smile, feeling quite nostalgic, “Oh, yes. But of the lady Isabeau and our dear Captain Navarre? Their tale lives on.”

“And you?” The first child said. “I mean, The Mouse?”

“The Mouse was never heard of again,” I said, a touch wistfully. “Perhaps he left to find new adventures across the sea. Or sought out other lovers in need of a clever thief to aid them. Certainly, he was not needed any longer by the Wolf and his Lady.”

The rosary rattled in my hands, and I couldn’t help the look of longing northward toward the distant Aquila.

“But they loved him, didn’t they?” the girl cried. “He was lost, just like them, and they saved each other!”

The lump in my throat constricted painfully and it took a few moments blink the moisture from my eyes.

“What need would a wolf and a hawk have of a lowly mouse?” I said airily, though it sounded lame to my own ears.

“They all need each other,” the girl said, leaping up and stamping her foot, her own eyes wet with tears. “You need each other!” She turned to her father, her little hands clenched to fists. “Papa!”

Claude harrumphed and gave me a long, calculating look. “Aye, child, you have the right of it,” he said finally. “Get up, storyteller, it’s time we got you home.”

I blinked. “Wh—?”

“Up, I said!” the man grumbled, rising himself and heading to the stalls where the camps single, mangy horse was kept. He took her harness – a simple, frayed rope looped about her neck – and led her toward me.

“Here, she’s not a fine creature like your lord’s Goliath, but Bess’ll see you home right enough.”

I stammered, not knowing what to think.

“Just see you tell your Captain how you was well treated, and he’s no need to come charging round the countryside after us. You send Bess here back with my boys and we’ll say no more about it,” he said, looking a mite bashful. Tear-tracks still cut through the grime on his face.

“Here.” I turned to see the bandit’s wife, who held out a woollen shawl. “You’re not going out in that rain like that, you’re barely dry as is.”

I took the shawl without objection, my voice completely lost from gratitude. As I swung myself onto Bess’s back, I felt a heavy hand rest upon my arm.

“Take it,” Claude said, holding up Etienne’s ring. “May God go with you. We’ll be praying for your lady sister and her child.”

My eyes filled with tears, Lord, and if I clutched Claude’s hand a little longer than was necessary, I think I shall be forgiven my sentiment.

Claude stepped back and, with a chorus of blessings from the highwaymen and a slap to Bess’s rear, I was once again sent hurtling into the rainswept night.

~

“Hail Mary, full of grace…”

I still clutched Imperius’s rosary in my hand, clinging as I was to the lead rope and Bess’s mane. The brave pony was going at a canter, slower than I’d like but further than I’d get pushing the poor old girl into a Goliath-like run.

“…The Lord is with thee...”

The walls of Aquila were a black mountain in the moonlight, getting larger but painfully slowly. My throat burned, my lungs screaming. I could not feel my hands. A wave of dizziness nearly unseated me and I took a long pause to blink the sleep from my fogged mind.

Where was I, Lord? …Damn it.

“H-Hail Mary, full of grace…”

~

“You can’t go out in this,” Imperius was lecturing.

I ignored him, pulling on my gauntlets and strapping my sword to my hip. From the corner where I had bound them the two criminals who had accompanied the good Father watched me miserably. It had taken little trouble and fewer bruises than I would have liked to extract the location of their camp from them.

“Etienne, are you listening to me?”

“I heard you,” I said, keeping my mind on the task at hand. Goliath was still worn from his long ride and longer stint as a carthorse. I would need to borrow a horse from the regiment. Two dozen men also to put the dogs down who had dared take my brother.

“You can’t leave now,” Imperius said, standing in the way of the door. “She needs you, Etienne. Isabeau needs you.”

“I can do nothing for her now,” I said. “Perhaps I should go and ask her opinion on the matter.”

“You wouldn’t burden her with this. Not now.” Imperius said, his mouth turned down and brow furrowed in a frown of censure.

We both knew I would not. My dearest, bravest love had fought a long and perilous battle, and had well earnt her rest.

“I will not leave him there,” I said, my word final. “I have sat around a full day; helpless, useless. This I _can_ do.”

“Yes, and well,” the priest agreed grimly. “But consider Philippe’s safety in this too.”

“I do consider it,” I growled, considering it only too well. What tortures might he be under at this very minute? I would not bear one more moment without him safe by our sides.

“Move, Father. Or I shall be forced to move you.”

Imperius narrowed his eyes. “If you think you can, sir knight, go ahead and try.”

I had taken not more than one step forward before we both heard the steady clatter of hoofbeats on the cobbles outside. Imperius readily moved out of the way then, and I drew my sword, flinging open the door.

The rain still fell, but by the dawn light my vision was not so obscured that I could not tell who sat upon the back of the horse. I stepped forward, wary still of any trap or attack, then rushed to his side when I saw he was truly alone.

“Philippe. Did you escape?”

My brother gave no reply. His head was bent forward, water dripping from his hair and nose. I reached for his hands, clutched about the rope of the pony’s harness, and felt their icy chill. He was muttering something, though I had to lean my ear close until it was almost touching his lips to hear what.

“…pray for us s-sinners…now at the hour… at the hour….”

“Come,” I said, unfolding his stiff hands from the rope as gently as I could. “Let’s get you inside.”

He slid from the pony’s back easily, but it was clear his legs had no strength to hold him upright, let alone walk. I swept Philippe up into my arms, holding his sodden, scrawny frame close to my chest. He stirred at that and a blood-shot eye cracked open to gaze up at me.

“…Eti?” he whispered, his poor throat rasping. “You came f’me.”

I smiled, “Always, little Mouse.”

He hmmed contentedly, snuggling closer into my chest, but a moment later his eyes snapped open, fully alert.

“Isabeau! The babe! How—?! What—!?”

I was about to calm him when a cry rang though the house, loud and hearty.

“Shh, my brother,” I said, knowing my smile was fair splitting my face. “You have a nephew to welcome and a sister to see.”

“N-neph… it’s a boy?” his face lost its weariness, lit with purest joy. “A boy, oh Eti… And Isabeau, she’s well?”

“Hale and whole,” Imperius said brightly from the doorway, stepping aside as I carried my weary brother across the threshold. “Though she sleeps now, as well she should. It was a long and arduous battle, well won!”

Philippe’s gaze flickered between the two of us, seeking confirmation to the Father’s words. Then his eyes filled with tears and he pressed his face to my collar, arms wrapped about my neck, squeezing tightly, his chest heaving with sobs.

“Come, sir, let me find you some dry clothes,” I ordered, carrying him up the stairs to his chamber. “Then you may see your godson.”

“But Eti…” he whined.

“You will do as I say, Philippe, or you shall go to bed without seeing him at all,” I said sternly, though both of us knew I would never be so heartless. “You have had a long and trying day.”

“Oh!” Philippe raised his head. “The highwaymen, they let me go. You… you haven’t killed the two who came with Imperius, have you?”

“Not yet,” I said grimly.

“Please, don’t,” Philippe begged, his pale face full sincere. “They’re good people, Eti, just trying to make their way in the world, like I was. They gave me back my ring, and this shawl, and gave me their horse so I could be home with you.”

I silenced his ramblings with a kiss to his frozen lips. “Hush for now, little thief. I’ll promise I shan’t harm them until you can tell me the whole story, but that can wait until you are warm and slept.”

He pouted gloriously, my brother, but I felt my heart softening at his earnest look. “I promise no they will be safe. I’ll even untie them, though they’ll spend the day in the cellar until I have the whole of it.”

“The horse…”

“The horse won’t fit in the cellar,” I said and then grinned at his shocked look.

“That was a joke!”

“I am aware.”

“You told a joke,” Philippe wondered as I set him on the bed and began to pull him out of his sodden clothes. “I can’t believe it. And Isabeau’s well, and you have a baby boy, both healthy. Did I die on the road, Lord? Am I in heaven?”

“Far from it, urchin,” I chuckled, wrapping a thick towel about his shoulders and messing his hair. His poor flesh was as cold as steel. I noted a nick in his ear which had not been there before, it was raw, but any blood it had drawn had been washed away by the rain. I frowned; those bandits would pay dearly for hurting my brother.

“Eti… I can dress myself,” the boy said, snapping me out of my dark contemplation. “Please, you should be back with your family, not worrying about me.”

“I _am_ with my family,” I said, stern, and fixed my eyes on his until he blushed and looked away with a nod. “Now no more fussing or I’ll warm you up, bottom first.”

He scoffed and blustered at that, suitably distracted long enough to get him into dry, warm clothes. He’d begun to shiver, so I picked him up and held him close to me, having removed my wet outer tunic first.

My son was as perfect and awe-provoking as the first time I had seen him, swaddled and pink in Isabeau’s arms. My heart surged and my eyes filled with tears again, and I wondered if perhaps Philippe was right, that we were all of us in heaven.

Nanette, who had been shushing the child, waited until I had set my brother in a chair at my lady’s bedside, and then carefully handed my son over to his uncle.

Philippe protested a little, terror widening his poor eyes. He held the boy as if he were made of thinnest glass, tucking him into the crook of his arm and supporting the head just as Nannette softly instructed. I would have mocked him if I had not been in a similar situation not an hour before.

Philippe looked down into my son’s face, his own lit with wonder.

“He’s as beautiful as she is,” he said, dreamily. “But, oh Eti, he has your eyes!”

I agreed wholeheartedly, feeling a few tears overflow as they had done more than once since the night had ended. I looked to my lady, who still slept deep, the pain and effort which had creased her brow now smoothed.

“Perfect,” Philippe murmured, a finger stroking the child’s cheek.

“Yes. But now it is time to get you—” I paused, looking down at Philippe, who had already fallen into a heavy sleep.

Gently I took my babe from his unresisting hands, brushing a soft kiss upon his sleeping brow before handing him back to Nannette. Then I took up Philippe once more, crossing to the far side of the bed and laying him beneath the covers. There would be time enough later to determine the full facts of his adventure, and, knowing my brother it would not be a simple, straightforward affair. For now, though, my family was together and whole once more, and each of us deserving of our rest. I whispered a few instructions regarding the bandits below to Nanette, knowing our formidable maidservant and the good Father could handle the task. Then I took my child from her and sat myself in the nursing chair to watch over my family.

As Nanette carefully closed the door behind her, Isabeau stirred. She caught sight of Philippe, smiling softly and raising a hand to smooth his messy, damp locks, her eyes drifting shut once more.

I watched them both: my brother, and the love of my heart; and rocked in the chair, our son held close to my breast. My eyes felt heavy and I allowed them to close, drifting off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> In loving memory of Rutger Hauer. Thank you for everything, Captain.


End file.
